


i don't gamble (but if i did, i would bet on us)

by InvadingThoughts



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Best Friends, Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvadingThoughts/pseuds/InvadingThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's his hands that give him away, or so he's been told by Michael. </p><p>They shake, they fidget, they pull at his hair and scratch red marks into his skin. Overall, they're traitorous and it's fucking aggravating, because he's tried to hide them. He’s tried to sit on his hands or clasp them together so tightly in his lap that his fingers turn white, but Michael still makes a comment and Ray still find himself flinching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't gamble (but if i did, i would bet on us)

It's his hands that give him away, or so he's been told by Michael.   
  
They shake, they fidget, they pull at his hair and scratch red marks into his skin. Overall, they're traitorous and it's fucking aggravating, because he's tried to hide them. He’s tried to sit on his hands or clasp them together so tightly in his lap that his fingers turn white, but Michael still makes a comment and Ray still find himself flinching.   
  
Michael thinks he's being supportive, but really he's just making things a lot harder. Because Ray _knows_ all the things that are wrong with him.   
  
He _knows_ that he constantly looks like he's about to cry, he _knows_ that he bites his lip until it bleeds and by now, Ray _knows_ that his mind is trying to kill him. His anxiety has been around a lot longer than Michael has and honestly, it will continue to stay even after Michael leaves.   
  
(Because Michael will leave, it’s just common knowledge.)  
  
"Last night was a bust, total waste of my time- fuck. Should've just- oh you asshole- should've just stayed home and got fucking drunk inst- DID YOU JUST BLUE SHELL ME, YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” Michael rounds on him instantly, shifting his upper body to face Ray with his controller lying discarded in his lap. They sit there for a tense moment of silence and Ray legitimately panics- he catches himself wondering if this is day where he’s pushed Michael too far; ended up ruining the comfortable friendship they’ve established- before relaxing ever so slightly.

(Ok. He knows it’s his anxiety. He knows the loud voice and angry tone triggers it. He knows the increase in his heartbeat isn’t justified and that Michael has yelled at him for much worse than a stupid blue shell on Mario Kart before. And hey, they’re still friends. Sure, he knows, but the panic is inevitable and honestly Ray’s come to expect it by now.)

So he just does his best to look calm, eyes flickering between Michael and his television screen. “I’m just too good for you Michael, hang your damn head in shame and get the fuck out of my apartment, nerd,” he says, laughing quietly when Michael knocks their shoulders together. “So, ah, what was actually wrong with your date, hmm?”

“Uh, I don’t know, we just didn’t click. She obviously didn’t want to be there and the conversation was completely one-sided. I kept trying to, ya know, keep the conversation flowing and all but I reckon she was disappointed with the whole night. It doesn’t matter, she wasn’t my type anyway,” Michael replies, absentmindedly fidgeting with the buttons on the wii remote. Once he makes sure that he’s won the race, Ray shifts on the couch, crossing his legs and tucking them underneath himself before facing Michael completely.

“Disappointed? What, you mean with you?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, eyeing his best friend.

Michael nods, scrunching up his nose as he grabs for his beer bottle. “I don’t think I was what she had in mind when she agreed to it, and you know, disappointments a bitch.”

Ray nods, because yes, he is closely acquainted with disappointment, too close one might say; but telling Michael that would elicit his pity stare and he’s not in the mood to defend himself tonight. Especially since the plan for tonight is to play Mario Kart, make Michael laugh until he pisses himself and then get shitfaced drunk (the latter addition was Michael’s idea, and not something Ray would be participating in himself).

  
“Hey-” he nudges Michael’s side with his elbow, “-she’s the one who’s missing out, yeah? You’d be a great boyfriend, so forget about her and getcha head in the game.”

It takes a few seconds before it registers, but when it does Michael lets out a huge groan and Ray doesn’t stop himself from giggling. His best friend reaches over and punches him in the arm and it only makes his giggles turn into loud whoops of laughter.

“I fuckin’ hate you, dude. Really? A High School Musical reference now?” He growls, shaking his head a with a glare. “I swear, if you start signing-”

And Ray takes that as his cue, with a large grin on his face he tilts his head back before belting out the beginning lyrics to a song he only memorised because he knows that Michael hates it. The man in question literally growls, before leaping at him and Ray quietly scrambles to get off the couch and out of the way. They collapse in a tangled mess on the lounge room floor and Ray feels all of the air get knocked out of his lungs.

Michael pushes him flat onto the floor and Ray stares at him in confusion, just letting himself be easily maneuvered- before Michael plants himself in the middle of Ray’s chest, sitting with his back to him.

“Alright asshole, I ain’t moving until you promise not to sing that stupid song again,“ he declares and Ray huffs a strangled laugh. The pressure on his chest is grounding, so very different from the usual pressure that suffocates him with his anxiety attacks and Ray decides that he likes it. So he just lies there, closing his eyes and taking in small harsh breaths. He manages to count to forty before Michael realises that he’s not struggling to escape and begins to question things.

“Fuck, you didn’t pass out did ya?” he asks, spinning around slightly to get a glimpse of Ray’s face and the Puerto Rican lets a small smile slip onto his face.

“Nah,” he mumbles and Michael hesitates briefly before humming quietly, an unsaid question hanging in the air between them. He ignores it and instead he chooses to distract Michael. “ So, if I can’t sing that song, which one can I sing? You can’t ban me from singing all of the High School Musical songs… that’d be just unfair.”

“I can and fucking will.” Michael climbs off of Ray, moving to lower himself to floor beside Ray- who just mutters a quiet “asshole,” under his breath in response.

They lie there for a few moments until Michael sighs and climbs back up to sit on the couch. He grabs his controller and pointedly looks at Ray, who decides to follow suit. “Rematch?” He asks and Michael nods his head, a sly grin overtaking his features.

“And this time, I’m going to fuckin’ win.”

“You’re on.”

He doesn’t.

He manages to lose the next three games before Ray takes pity on him and _accidentally_ drives off the edge of the course. Michael speeds past him with a large whoop of excitement and Ray’s smile is small but genuine. They play two more games after that, neither of them decidedly caring who wins, since they both deliberately turn their sights on each other, trading blow after blow until Michael crosses the line in eleventh with Ray following close behind him seconds later.

“Well, good game.” Michael sighs, reaching over to grab his beer, only to realise that it's empty. Ray’s snorts, shuffling back further into the couch. There’s a hum of electricity under his skin, which he’s learnt is thanks to his anxiety (and it’s not real electricity of course, rather it's a fuzzy, tingly feeling that leaves him agitated) but he can’t quite pinpoint the reason for it being there. Maybe it’s because the night is ending soon and Michael will return to his apartment shortly- leaving him alone. Maybe it's because he doesn’t like the way his best friend stumbles up to go grab another bottle of beer.

Maybe there's no reason for it to be there. It just is. But that doesn’t stop Ray from digging his fingernails into the skin of his thighs, a burst of pain that he silently enjoys.

  
“You feeling bad again?” Michael asks and Ray physically jumps, eyes darting up to meet Michael’s as he watches him from the other end of the couch. It feels like a standoff, both of them just staring each other, but Ray knows Michael is waiting for him to talk. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t want his impending distress to break the easy mood they’ve built, so instead he just turns his head and stares at the television screen.

So his fingernails dig into his skin a bit harder. So Michael takes a seat on the the couch next to him, eyes watching the television as well.

  
“I’m fine,” Ray mumbles, but the lightning under his skin is getting sharper and he can feel his hands beginning to shake. _He’s making it worse again,_ he muses, clenching his hands into a fist. Ray hates shifting blame onto Michael, but honestly, if he just left it. If he just didn’t comment and let Ray deal with it on his own, then he’d settle in his skin a lot easier.

Because when Michael says something, Ray instantly feels ashamed. He’s doing it again, slipping into that anxiety based suit that he knows so well and so it's disappointing. It’s disappointing to know that Michael saw his slip, that he’s reminded his best friend that he’s hurting and he can see the way it's managing to hurt Michael as well.

He doesn’t want Michael to look at him and just see him as his mentally ill friend. Doesn’t want his best friend to _be_ his best friend because he knows cutting ties with him would shatter him. And he desperately doesn’t want Michael to believe that he’s dependent on him (he is), because it’s in Michael’s nature to protect and he doesn’t want him to stay because he feels like he has too.

So Ray tries again, repeating the two words in an attempt to maybe believe them himself. “I’m fine,” he whispers and Michael sighs.

"I'd die for you, dude." The words and how Michael drops them so nonchalantly, make Ray’s heart rate spike. He closes his eyes and Michael takes another sip of his beer, eyes never straying from the television screen. He hums lowly in his throat before continuing, "Of course, I'd haunt you in the afterlife but really, it's the thought that counts."

“Don’t,” Ray can’t help but reply and Michael turns and looks at him, a hard look etched into his eyes.

“I’d die for you.” He repeats and Ray flinches, “I wouldn’t hesitate. A threat to you is a threat to me, Ray. So when I ask you what’s wrong, I _meant_ it. I want to know, cause I want to help you.”

Ray shakes his head. “You can help by not saying things like that, Michael,” he hisses and then Michael’s crawling over to him within seconds. He takes control, maneuvering him until they’re both lying on their sides on the couch, facing each other with their knees knocking against one another. He slowly rubs his hand down up and down Ray’s left arm, trying to ground him.

“Hey, look. I’m fine, alright? I ain’t going to die anytime soon, Ray. I’m fine, honestly,” he soothes and Ray fails to stop himself from shuffling forwards and tucking his face into the crook of Michael’s neck. _This isn’t what best friends do, idiot,_ he tells himself, _this is something Geoff would do with Griffon, this is what lovers do._ But it works, because slowly his breathing starts to even out and the hum under his skin dulls to something bearable again.  
  
Michael moves his ministrations to Ray’s back, hand slowly stroking along the length of his spine, only stopping to massage little areas before moving again. “You’re alright. We’ll get through this together, you just have to let me help.”

“I love you,” Ray whispers. It just slips out, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he realises the implications of them. His body instantly tenses in Michael’s arms and the man’s hands stop stroking his back. There’s a tense moment where the lightning's back, burning him from the inside out and he’s breathing faster, heart rate picking up in his chest.

How could he let it slip so easily? How could be so stupid, to let Michael get his guard down so much that a love declaration manages to spring free? The same declaration that Ray’s been sitting on for month, hiding behind sleepless nights and bitten cheeks. So he moves slowly, and the all at once, shuffling out of Michael’s arms and rolling over, jumping off the couch with wobbly legs.

The quiet hurts, the way Michael’s not talking and the way the television tries to pretend everything's fine by looping Mario Kart theme again and again. So Ray stands, ducks his head down low and hesitates for a moment. Does he tell Michael that it's okay? That he never expected his best friend to fall for him like that, so the rejection won't kill him? (It will. God it will, but Ray will try. He’ll try for Michael’s sake not to die in front of his best friend because that’s manipulation and Michael doesn’t deserve that).

Does he try to pretend that in a few weeks time they’ll be back to normal, that he didn’t just destroy years of friendship because he’s weak?

He settles on silence, absentmindedly pressing his hand to his chest as he turns to leave. To go hide in his bedroom till Michael leaves and then forget all about the night. He makes it about twelve steps. Twelve steps before he hears Michael moving behind him and his instincts scream at him to run, that Michael is moving to yell at him, to hurt him. But he keeps his pace and then suddenly there's a hand around his wrist and it takes everything he has not to cry.

He doesn’t cry. He stops moving, he heaves in a desperate breath and he looks at Michael. But he doesn’t cry.

Michael’s mouth opens, words dying on the tip of his tongue and Ray waits. _He’s being nice about it,_ his mind supplies him, _he’s trying to let you down easy._ Part of Ray is glad that Michael’s being gentle, part of him just wishes the man would just yell at him. He opens his mouth to offer him a way out, an escape, but Michael lets out a frustrated growl before giving up on his words completely.

Instead, he just grabs Ray’s head in both of his hands and kisses him, something that's extremely desperate and clumsy, teeth knocking together. It takes a few seconds before Ray catches up with what’s happening and starts to kiss back, and then the kiss dissolves into something slower. Something more careful and gentle, as Michael moves his hands- one adjusting to grip at Ray’s neck while the other rests on his hip. He drags his teeth across Ray’s bottom lip and the Puerto Rican gasps quietly. Michael uses it to his advantage, licking his way into Ray’s mouth.

The electricity under his skin has escaped. Ray can feel it everywhere Michael touches him and it leaves his head spinning in a good way. He pulls back from Michael, only because he needs to breath and Michael tugs him closer, pressing their bodies together. He huffs into the crook of his best friend’s neck and melts in his arms. The anxiety hum dulls again (it doesn’t leave, it’s not that nice), but he can ignore it now, especially since Michael seems to be intent on running his hands along every inch of his body.

They break apart long enough for Michael to lead him back to the couch, where they resume their position, lying side by side facing each other. It takes mere seconds before their legs are tangled up together and Ray is pressed against Michael again. They just lay there, breathing each other in, a comfortable silence where Ray can feel his heart pound in his chest for a reason completely different from anxiety.

It’s Michael who breaks the silence and Ray pulls back so he can meet his gaze. “I love you too,” he whispers and Ray’s breath hitches, “I love you so much and I want to help you. So please, don’t hide from me, Ray.”

Ray knows Michael is asking him for something he’s not sure he can give, but he’s so tired of pretending. He’s so sick of dodging questions and plastering on fake smiles, so much so that his answer is as honest as he can be in that moment.

“I’ll try, Michael,” He mutters and the arms around him tighten slightly, “That’s the best I can offer right now. But… I promise to try…”

“Then that’s all I’ll ask for,”  


End file.
